Copper Stars
by TehFemaleMoriarty
Summary: This story is about a Karayork that gets sold into slavery to a wealthy politician, where he has many adventures, not all of them good. Meanwhile, he's being hunted down by someone else, someone dangerous...
1. Chapter 1: Karayorks and Terranfors

**A/N So hey guys! I'm really new to this whole fan fiction writing, so both complements and critiques are welcome! This is my first attempt, if you guys leave reviews, I'll be posting more of this. Tell me if you like it, and so on. Hope you enjoy, and WARNING: there is violence and some mean things! No offence meant! So thanks!**

Chapter 1: Karayorks and Terranfors

A beautiful day began on a peaceful moon called Karayork, a desert planet orbiting the very edge of the enormous Terranfor galaxy. During this sunrise, a certain Karayork woke and let his eyes adjust to the darkness of his hut. Called John, he looked down beside him when his eyes fixed themselves, at his still sleeping wife, Sarah, watching her dream a moment. Then, he kissed her gently and carefully swung his legs over the side of their cot, cautious as not to wake her.

The village lay quiet and asleep, all except John and the arragor birds, who woke with the sunrise and nestled in the trees. As John listened to the quiet chirp, he watched as the light of the stars, in all their coppery brilliance, fade into the rays of the rising sun, and as the light of the four moons dimmed.

A pair of arms snaked their way around his waist, and a loving kiss settled on his cheek. "Are we stargazing again, my love?" she questioned in affection. "Not this morning, no. I am watching the sunrise." Sarah burrowed herself into John's arms and kissed him again. "Then good morning, my husband." John smiled and replied, "Good morning, my lovely Sarah." They continued to gaze at the sun until it sat just on the horizon, and then they returned to their home to start their day: Sarah would spin and dye wool at home with friends, while John would participate in his first hunt.

John's heart beat with excitement as he dressed into his hutting attire and readied his med-pack and firing cane. He'd been training as a Healer his entire life, wondering how the Hunters got the scrapes and gouges he fixed. He couldn't wait to hunt and show off a certain talent he and his sister had: because they were born of both Hunters and Healers, two very different genetic groups in their village, they could fly. Well, not really "fly" per say, but rather run until they did.

Kissing Sarah goodbye for the day, the anxious Karayork tightened his grip on his med-pack and hefted his firing cane onto his shoulder before meeting his sister and her hunting crew at the edge of the Dunelands. "...and we'll meet back here at sunset, do don't stray too far. Oh, ho! The Prince of _Ekenshilims_ I have for a little brother has finally arrived! Good morning!" Harriett joked. John just sighed and gestured to the Lands behind his sister. "Can we go now?" Harry just smirked and turned on her heel, swaggering out into the Dunes. "Move out!"

It wasn't long before an iravn crossed their path, the monstrous creature paying no heed to the minute Hunters. "Now!" came the order, and the two siblings ran along side of the beast, leading it toward a trap while firing into its hulking form. And as John began to really _run_, his foot caught on a loose root, and he tumbled and fell away from the group. When he looked up at his sister, she was flying, her feet only brushing the ground every fifth or sixth step.

Smiling, John brushed down his vest and "capris", as the Terranfors called them, and tried to judge which way was home. He followed the sun towards an a series of oases, where he collapsed at a pool and began to drink. He snapped his head up. He had heard voices.

Pulling away a fraction of foliage, the Karayork peered through and saw Terranfor traders and his North Karayork brethren. They carried chains and metal sticks and large measures of wood, and they marched toward his village. 'Nothing to worry about,' he thought. 'We have traded with both before, why not now?' And though he reassured himself, something just didn't seem right...

"I don't know Sarah," he vented once at home with his wife. "Hush love. The women and I are to make a feast for our guests. There will be music and dancing and stories. All will be well." John smiled at his wife and nodded, her voice melting all his worries.

Night fell after the traders arrived, causing the massive bonfire that sat in the center of the village to be lit. Music and dancing began, as did the feasting. Three Terranfor men sat beside John, overdressed in his opinion, eating Sarah's iravn stew. They all watched Sarah dancing beside the fire. John had to brush this away, too. 'No harm done,' he thought, watching Sarah twist and stomp in the dirt, the firelight catching her curves and the wave of her hair.

And then the stories came, with a young man named Raz sitting in the front of the fire, while everyone else watched him. The Terranfors and North Karayorks sat in the back, waiting for the story to begin. This particular night, it was a story of how a Karayork prince tricked a Jilkinyi into giving his wealth to the Karayork people. Raz painted constantly throughout the story, showing his art to the listeners. "And when he turned away," Raz gestured to the crowd, who answered, "The prince killed him!" Everyone applauded and Raz stood to bow. A shot rang out, silencing everyone. The young man was clutching his chest, and when he pulled his hand away, a gaping, purple hole adorned his chest, causing the crowd to gasp in horror. When his body dropped limp to the ground, chaos followed.

**Hope you enjoyed reading this, and I'm soooooo sorry if some of these words are hard to pronounce. Again, if you like this so far, and you tell me, I'll post more. Take care, pretties, and have a nice day. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2: Beach March and ArianPort

**A/N: Hello again, my pretties! Thanks for the review, dear Craest, it helped much! Now, for the second chapter! This installment introduces new characters, and loads of angst (I think?). Hope you enjoy, and here it is!**

All heads turned towards the Terranfor man with the smoking metal stick, who blew away the grey cloud before shouting an order. At the sound, both Terranfors and North Karayork alike attacked the hopelessly outnumbered village, snatching children from their mothers and wives from their husbands. And all poor, horror-paralyzed John could do was watch. One of the Terranfors who had been watching Sarah, was now dragging her away, kicking and screaming, telling her something. He placed a hand over her mouth, but drew it away, bleeding from the sight where he was bitten. She screamed John's name before being shoved roughly to the ground, her head smashing against a rock. 'Please get up, love, please!' John inwardly pleaded, doubling over in agony when he saw the precious purple colour of blood pooling beside her head.

He was forced fiercely to his knees, his arms wrenched behind him and shackled together, though he hardly noticed. All he loved was gone, destroyed by the firing of metal and the fire set by one of the attackers. Its oranges and reds were cruel and consuming, rather than the inviting warmth it had once been as a bonfire. When the suffocating smoke from the fire finally subsided, John looked around in stunned shock. Everything was gone, dead, destroyed. No more was his home. He was raised to his feet and chained to two other people. He identified the first as Clara, Harriett's wife. He couldn't see the other due to the metal collar that had been locked around his neck.

And then they marched, leaving behind the demolished village grimly decorated with the blood and bodies of John's people. Whenever one in a file fell, they brought the others down with them, and were subjected to whatever punishment their captors saw fit. John, for instance, was lashed shallowly with a whip, a "gentler" punishment than most; His sister was beat with a nail-studded post, and Clara was hit severely with a metal baton. Everywhere he turned, John saw only tired resign, the life of his people taken away without death.

They marched, heads down in despondence, until the packed, brown earth beneath their feet turned to white sand. John looked up from his aching feet, and noticed two structures on the shore: a small, dark one, the other a clear, cage-like building. Their dismal company was ordered to end their march, and several members near fell to the floor. Sunrise was spilling over the horizon, bleeding red into the water, seeming to weep for its ensnared people. The first in every coffle was led into the smaller building, leaving the others behind to wait in the early morning light. Each came out in tears, or screaming, nursing their left shoulder. They were then led to the second hut, sat down, and treated with a salve.

It was soon John's turn, and as he was being led away by a North Karayork, he asked, "Why do you do this, brother?"  
"Our people have been at war before," he answered. "My reward shall be greater this time, however."

Once in the small building, his eyes immediately focused on the small fire pit, one that sported three prongs protruding from it. The door was shut, and John was pushed onto his knees once more by the North Karayork, leaving only the boots of a Terranfor in his sight. The boots walked purposefully towards him, the tip of a white-hot poker just visible. And then the hot pain of the poker was felt on his left shoulder, drawing a brand onto it. "Like livestock,' John thought.

The door burst open, and the hand holding the poker slipped, sinking in into John's already tender flesh. He screamed loudly as he felt the burn cover both the front and back of his shoulder, the hot metal pushing, but not fully piercing.

The branding item was wrenched from his shoulder with swears, creating an entirely new kind of pain. The damaged Karayork was led tenderly from one place to the next by a Terranfor, one who rubbed salve on his wound and apologized profusely for what was happening to him.

The sun was well above the horizon when someone sat next to John. Looking up, he saw it was Clara. "You are Harry's wife, correct?" he asked her, drawing in the sand as Raz once might have. "I am. And you are her brother, John." Before he could agree, the North Karayork that had held him down for branding was now being thrown into the construct with the others, and though he shouted in the language of their captors, the words fell on deaf ears. "Hey!" Clara shouted, getting his attention. "How's that for 'greater reward', huh?"

Turning back toward Clara, John noticed her resigned composure and bruising wounds. "You are lucky," he told her. "You have Harry with you, and my Sarah is dead." But the battered, yet brave, Clara only shook her head. "No, I am not. Now I must watch her suffer along with the rest of our people." John took this into contemplation, grimly being thankful that Sarah was dead and did not have to endure these horrors.

When the sun hung high in the blue sky, the captives were marching again, towards another unknown destination. Clara walked beside John for the last time. His sister, no longer smart-mouthed and quick witted, but silent, flanked his opposite. "John?"  
"Yes, Clara?"  
"Think of us. When we are gone, keep strong for us, for me, Harry, and all of the Karayork people. Will you do that when we part ways?"  
"I will, Clara. May Creation keep you."  
"And you, John."

He never saw his sister or his sister's wife after that. Instead, he saw a busy and bustling airport, filled with faces of white, black, blue, and burgundy, all staring at the ensemble of Karayorks before them. They were led into yet another building. The men were separated from the women, and shoved into a dark room that seemed void of any light. Once his eyes had adjusted, what John saw sickened him. Different people of different races were all in one place; Zardenese, Rakashic, New Cardiffian, and even Wallorites. When John found a spot in the corner, he sat and wept into his lap, the floor drinking in his tears. "Don't cry." a stern but kind voice ordered. "Creator knows how many tears have been shed in this hellhole."

John looked up and into the seafoam green eyes of a New Cardiffian. "Trevor," he spoke, offering his hand. "Victor Trevor." John smiled. "John."

**A/N: So here it is, the second chapter, with new characters and new mean things. Sorry if any of the slavery references offend anyone! WARNING!: Sherlock will not be in this story until Chapter five. Sorry for the inconvenience, but you will see why when you get there! DISCLAIMER!: As much as I'd like to, I don't own any of the Sherlock characters. That privilege belongs to Moffat, Gattis, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the latter having been shipping the two in a hipster fashion. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! Oh, and another thing before you have a great day: I will be updating every Friday night, because that is when my life doesn't happen. Thanks again, be sure to review, you know I love 'em, pretties! Bye, and tell your friends!**


	3. Chapter 3: Victor and Help

**A/N: Hi pretties, I'm back! I'm so sorry for being late. Twice. That was mean of me. But I hope you can accept my apologies with these ****TWO**** new chapters, and I hope you'll forgive me by leaving a review and telling your friends. Sorry again, and here's chapter three:  
-**

Days passed, and John and Victor became fast friends, helping each other in their own way. Victor kept John alive physically, keeping him fed and unharmed, while John kept Victor going emotionally by telling him stories about his childhood and his home. "They keep me grounded," he would say, gesturing to his heart. "They heal me here."

Once, Victor was called into the captain's quarters, and when he returned, he clutched his side and a handful of meat. "Here," he winced, handing the food to John who aided the New Cardiffian in sitting back down. "Do you hunger ever?" the Karayork asked, taking a mouthful of the meat. Victor shook his head and laughed bitterly. "I eat my fill. Whenever that bastard calls me into that room, I eat and drink till I am full, I bathe, and then I am thrown back into here."  
John nodded. "That's not so bad, is it?" he asked innocently enough. Victor shot him a rueful smile. "Not for what he takes in return." At first the Karayork didn't understand the severity of his friend's voice, but his eyes soon widened with realization. "I am sorry." he said, touching Victor's shoulder. "It's not your fault, nor can you do anything about it. Don't apologize for that evil bastard." The Karayork swallowed thickly and gazed at the little, round breathing hole in the wall. "Do you think that the Creator can see us in this place?" he asked. Victor looked to the small light the gap gave. "I think He can, but I don't think He can do anything about it."

Night fell, and the guards, both men and women alike, came for the captives. "Stare blankly at the guard when he passes," Victor whispered to John. The blue-skinned male obeyed and the uniformed soldiers left him alone. "Why did you do that?"  
"So they do not take you the way I have been."  
John frowned at him. "The men would not, would they?" he asked angrily. "They would."  
"But I-I know nothing of that!" John protested.  
"They don't care. They will take you, rape you, and there will be nothing you can do." Victor stated coolly.  
"You are cruel!" the other exclaimed, tears slipping from his eyes. "I am honest." Victor cradled John and let the tears trail down his chest. When John ceased his sobs, he asked, "Then why do we live? What is the use?" Victor shrugged. "Because you must. Because you are still alive, because light continues to shine, I don't know. But you must. You are strong spirited. Don't break, or they win."

John continued through long, miserable, on-edge days, this saying, this vow, echoing through his mind. And so he survived. He willed himself on, said nothing when Victor came back from a long night, and looked blankly at the floor whenever a guard threatened to have him as a fancy. He lived, but not for himself, rather the memory of his people.

Eventually, the door was opened again, and a guard came to summon them into the light of day. At first, the light was a blinding, brilliant white, but John's eyes adjusted and he found himself in a polished courtyard among his fellow captives. Three men waited in the center of the courtyard, one with his hands folded behind his back, the other two with writing utensils. The captives were all lined up in rows, and the three passed between them, inspecting, prodding, fondling, and poking, checking for something. Several were sent away back into the consuming dark, and those who remained were herded and lined in a single file. The man who had had his hands behind his back shouted something of approval.

But what were they approved for?

**A/N: So there's the third chapter of John's many adventures as he endures bravely through this hardship. I hope you guys like this one and the next...DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters. Moffat, Gattis, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle do. Thanks, and enjoy the next!**


	4. Chapter 4: Lights and Dancing

**A/N: Hi again! Here is your second gift of apologies and the fourth installment of Copper Stars. Sorry chapter three was so short, I will have filler chapters like that. This also has a ton of Firefly lingo in it, as will the rest of the story. Well, enough rambling. Here it is:  
-**

One by one, the captives were all forced to their knees and ordered to do something, but the command was in the language of the Terranfors and incomprehensible to John's ears. A heavy boot kicked John in the direction of an opening near the floor. Paralyzed with fear, the Karayork couldn't move nor breathe. "Crawl!" Victor hissed, and the voice grounded John to move again. His eyes needed time to adjust to the darkness he encountered once through the opening, and what he saw nearly made him double over: More men and women of all across the galaxy, gathered, branded, and herded like livestock. He swallowed thickly, stood, and was led roughly to a corner and pushed against a wall before being forced to sit. Victor was shoved to the ground next to him. "Where are we?" John questioned his friend, who only shook his head. "I have been on one of these only once." the New Cardiffian explained. "This is called a transport ship, some sort of Terranfor bug, I think."  
"Where are we going, Victor?" The captive only shrugged. "I know not. Our future, I believe. Through the sky and into the stars. From there, we move onward."  
"Then at least we can face the future together, can we not?" John joked. Victor's face stayed stony and silent. "Will you not stay with me, Victor?" Victor shrugged again. "I don't know. From here on out, I won't know anything. But," he added, pointing at a set of doors. "I know that most here will end up in there at some point of this trip."  
"What makes you so sure?"  
"Those are the crew's living quarters."

The ship began to sway violently, and many of the captives began to scream or squeal with surprise or fear. Above, John heard laughter. Terranfor men and women holding large firing canes chuckled amusedly at those below. 'They find our anxiety humorous?' he asked himself. The swaying eventually ceased and smoothed out, but the nervousness hung in the air like a cloud. This trip would not be a short one.

A small, white-coloured dish, decorated a corner above the diversity. John identified it as a skyplate, a device that changed from white to bright purple according to the planetary time you set it to. Miners on Karayork used to have ones when they went into the shafts so that they could return home when the moon rose. This left the Karayork wondering why there was one in the cargo hold.

Some of the soldiers came down from the railings and into the sea of their captives, collecting a group of people and taking them through the doors that led to the living quarters. After a while, some of those selected returned, others did not. A short time later, John found himself among those gathered, along with Victor. The tallest soldier moved to the front of the small crowd and pressed a button on a box. Loud, thumping, sound came from the box and all the other guards smiled and moved to the "music." The Terranfor beside the box shouted something, but no one moved. A whip cracked next to John, causing him to jump. The woman who owned the weapon laughed and nodded. John jumped again and soon all were jumping along with him. 'Dancing?' he thought, jumping again. As they "danced" to the loud box, he noticed that some of the guards were looking at the captives, lust behind their eyes. But as John turned away, he noticed a short, round man with spectacles was watching John's face rather than his body.

After the sound ended, a few of those who came in were pulled aside and into a room, John and Victor included. The door was closed behind them and the only light came from the skyplate suspended above them. They all sat in tense silence, no one saying or asking anything until the light glowed purple. "What is going to happen?" John asked. Victor stayed silent, and the door opened as an answer. A heavy hand covered John's shoulder. It was the man with the glasses.

**So thanks again, pretties, and until next Friday! I promise. Hope you enjoyed, tell your friends, and leave those delicious reviews. Thanks again, have a nice day. DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the Sherlock characters. That sweet privilege goes to Moffat, Gattis, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**


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